Shaft 37

Marcus seized Daniel by the arm. “You’re leading.” “I can’t walk that fast.” “Then don’t die here.” They slipped through the rear maintenance passage behind the hospital, narrow and stale and thick with the lingering smell of disinfectant. No breeze came through the vents, only more trapped heat. Lin looked back once at the ER and had a sudden, absurd thought: if this was civilization, then civilization was only a very thin layer of cold air. At the end of the passage stood a rusted door with a stamped number plate. Shaft 37. Behind it there was no light, only deeper darkness and deeper damp heat. Just as they were about to enter, the entire hospital lurched violently. Not an aftershock. Not an explosion.